And shaking with horror, and sick at the loss of friend and lover, they sat there till dawn, with deep holes about them.
But Kitty perpetually wailed for the man who was gone, and half she said was unintelligible to her companion. For now, not caring to be understood, she used the commoner talk of the Brodarro, which was mixed strangely with fragments of many aboriginal dialects.
"My man is gone," she cried; "my little man who was strong and brave."
Yes, the Baker was gone; gone without a farewell, without a handshake, and his good-bye was a terrible shriek, which still rang in Smith's ears. Perhaps those who were left would now escape, but all the joy was gone out of him at the loss of his faithful companion, whose courage was proof against any natural horror, and only failed in dangers which appeared ghastly beyond all imagination. But he was gone, gone, said Smith, for ever.
And the dawn came up in the east upon the plain, and he saw, within half a mile of him, the big pine tree which had been their landmark. He rose and took Kitty by the hand. She wished to look into the crater which had swallowed her man, but he drew her away towards the west. She walked quietly, with her head hanging down.
As he approached the pine, Smith began to see other smaller timber about it, and further on, what seemed like the usual gums lining a river.
"If I'm right," he said, "we shall come to the river; we need it badly."
The ground was now more broken and not altogether sandy. Here and there he saw rocks projecting, and once they came to hard ground. They passed one or two of the ghastly funnel holes, and finally came out of the sand upon a little higher ground. Right beneath them was the silver lost river, running slowly through a flat which rose gradually to the north in the low range they had seen the day before.
As they came in sight of the stream, Kitty broke down and cried.
"Oh, Baker," she said.